


Bathe

by Mapal



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mapal/pseuds/Mapal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For U.S.S. Caryl's word prompt challenge. Taking my prompt from the word "bath"</p><p>First Caryl fic yay</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathe

   Her fingers tightened on the knife in her hand, the blood that was coating the grip sticky and foul. It had almost been the end of her, a small herd of walkers trundling through the woods, but somehow she had come out alive, if a little worse for wear. At some point she had twisted her ankle and her shoulders were sore from firing her gun and swinging with the knife continuously for at least thirty minutes. The trees had been her allies, had probably been the only thing that had kept her alive as she used them as blocks and confused the walkers by ducking behind them.

Her shirt was filthy, caked in the blood of the undead and smeared with dirt from the fall she had taken at the start of the slaughter. Her boots were heavy with mud and she didn't want to guess what grime was in her hair. It had been a long time since she had had to defend herself like that, but Carol was glad that she had taken the time to practice and lose the fear she had harboured for the walkers. After her car had finally broken down, beyond her knowledge of repairs, she had gone the rest of the way by foot, losing her rucksack to a particularly grabby walker.. Her speed and skills were the only things keeping her alive.

About two miles after dispatching the walkers she stumbled upon a pool in the woods. She was wary. It could easily be a water source for a camp, a small stream trickling down a rockface into the shallow water. Daryl had taught her some things, little things, about tracking and noticing things, and she slowly and carefully went around the pool looking for signs that it was in use. There were no footprints, no drag marks, just signs of animals and the shuffled scuff marks of some passing walkers.

She had been using what little she knew of tracking to cover herself and stay under everyone's radar. Also she had maybe, just a little bit, left tiny markers every few miles. Maybe she hadn't totally covered her tracks to an expert. Maybe a little mark on a tree or a bit of fabric had been left. A small part of her still dimly hoped that someone would come looking, and that someone would be skilled enough to find her.

She widened her circle around the pool, checking for any wandering walkers and taking a few out as she went. It seemed pretty clear, the thick bushes scattered around appearing to stop some of the unfortunate walkers from getting past them. She found a few caught in the barbs of the branches, dispatching of them quickly so they didn't lure any more in. Eventually she was satisfied that she had bought herself some time.

Her clothes needed washing. She needed washing. She could hardly stand to walk around with dried blood on her, weighing her down and making her feel more wretched than she already felt. She knew the smell of the walkers would help her go unnoticed, but there was a part of her that was simply too repulsed to care. She missed the times of The Prison, with the showers and the water supply, the family around her and the food they made themselves.

The amount of times she had considered returning we uncountable. Every time she had even come close to turning around and going back she had reminded herself of what she had done, of the trouble she would cause if she returned. Everything was for the greater good, and she recognised that her returning certainly would not help anyone.

She did one last cautious check around her as she knelt down on a smooth rock at the edge of the pool. It still seemed clear, but she'd have to be quick. She stripped her shirt off, her jacket being lost long ago, and laid it at the side of her as she reached down and scooped some of the water into her hands. It was cool from the shade of the trees and relatively fresh due to the little stream, enough to refresh her face and bring some of the grime off. She rubbed at her skin, checking her reflection in the rippling water now and then to see her progress.

When she had got quite a bit of her neck and face clear, she decided that it was more important now to get her clothes clean if that was indeed her aim. She pushed her shirt into the water, rubbing it together and watching the water turn a putrid shade of dark red. She kept scrubbing it against the rock and rubbing it, wringing it, until less blood started to come from the fabric. It was laid to dry in a small patch of sun on the rock as she removed her belt and boots and shucked off her pants. She felt bare and open, which she was, and tried to move as fast as possible to get some of the dirt from her pants.

She was good at getting things clean, even with very limited supplies such as a simple pool of water. She got her pants to an acceptable state and laid them beside her shirt. They would take a little to dry enough for her to actually get them on without them sticking to every inch of her skin, so she debated her next move. Obviously she wasn't going to get naked. That was the dumbest idea to ever cross her mind. She knew what people were like. The walkers were bad but the living could be worse, she didn't want anyone to stumble upon her while she was beyond vulnerable.

Carol eyed the pool of water and then looked to her knife. She guessed she could just bathe in her underpants. As long as her knife was within reach, she would be fine. She placed it on the rock by the water's edge and removed her socks, wrinkling her nose at the state of those too. She didn't have time to wash more clothes, however, and cast them aside before slipping into the water.

If she sat, it was deep enough to come up to her shoulders, the rocks forming a ledge at the side so the water was deeper there. She chose to kneel, deciding it would make things easier if she had to reach her knife quickly, and started to rub the dirt from her skin. It felt glorious to be clean again, to feel the water around her and to feel weightless. It took the pain from her muscles and bones, helping her relax a little. Maybe it was just what she needed.

She rocked back to duck her hair under the water, running her fingers through it to dislodge the unthinkable things that were matted into it. She guessed sometimes she was glad for her short hair, she hated to imagine what it was like to have long hair at the end of the world. She didn't realise how much of a mistake it had been to let her ears be submerged until she sat back up again. There was a figure lurking in the bushes and she hadn't heard it approach. She hadn't heard anything, in fact.

Carol lunged for her knife, wrapping her fingers around the disgusting grip and holding it tight as she squinted at the figure in the shadows. “Carol?” came a familiar voice, making the panic in her veins switch to a different form of heat, a different form of panic. She was totally, utterly, not prepared for this. She was in her _underwear_.

“Daryl?” She squinted towards the figure and he stepped forwards, arms raised in a sign of peace but his bow still in one hand. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed, ducking a little more under the water, not that it mattered. It was nearly crystal clear.

“Followin' you,” he said simply, letting his arms drop to his sides.

“How... how did you find me? I covered my tracks recently, there's this camp that didn't seem to friendly.” In fact they had seemed downright horrific. The one time she had totally covered her tracks was passing that camp.

“Well there's this big pile of dead walkers about two miles back,” Daryl said with a small twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth, “but yeah before that it went cold.”

Carol tried her best to cover herself up a bit, crossing her arms over her chest and floating back a little in the water. She still had her knife in her hand. Daryl glanced down at the drying clothes on the rock, but didn't move from his spot. “Want me to keep watch?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

She glanced around at the trees and thought about it. She really would like to take longer in the water, it was easing all of her aches and pains and ridding her skin of that disgusting coat of blood and dirt. “Could you maybe turn around?” she muttered, feeling incredibly bare. It was funny how such a thing as almost nudity was a problem when the world was going to shit.

“Sure,” he answered, turning around before sitting down on the rock. She stared at his back for a while, the winged jacket marked with blood. He himself looked like he had been through the mill a bit.

“What happened?” she asked quietly as she let her arms drop from her chest, going about cleaning her knife.

Daryl was silent for a long time before he spoke. “Prison got attacked,” he explained, keeping his face turned away, scanning the woods. “The Governor came back, had a goddamn tank.” Carol stared down at the blade in her hands, processing the information. The Governor would have had the aim of leaving no survivors.

“Did... did anyone get out?” she dared to ask.

“Yeah.” She felt the relief wash through her. “A few of us did, everyone got kinda scattered though. Rick's tryin' to find 'em all.” Carol was sure he was holding back information but she didn't press any further. It wasn't her place.

“The girls?”

She didn't like the pause before he spoke, the weighted moment of thought. “Yeah, they're fine,” he said simply. The relief was quickly replaced by nausea. She knew him enough to know when he wasn't sure. After she was silent for longer than he seemed comfortable with, he turned his body to look at her. “Carol?”

She barely heard him, eyes fixed on the knife. Maybe if she had been there then she would have been able to do something about it. The world seemed fuzzy, sounds muffled. Her regrets towards her choices flooding into her. She was startled back to reality by a splash nearby, a gentle wave of water rocking her. She looked up quickly to see Daryl not far away from her, his jacket cast off so his chest was bare. He was still wearing pants, which she guessed she was a little thankful for in the back of her mind. He had even left his bow at the water's edge, even if it was perilously close to falling in and within easy reach for him.

“Carol, hey, c'mon,” he muttered, pushing himself a little closer to her so he could rest a hand on her shoulder. “Everyone got split up, we don't know who got out but I'm sure they're fine. A load got out on the bus.” She stared a little blankly at him, part of her wondering why he bothered trying to find her at all.

“Why are you here?” the question came out before she could stop it, quiet and hoarse. He almost seemed to recoil but after a moment of hesitation he reached up to put his other hand on her other shoulder, as if to stop her from leaving.

“I'd have come sooner, was gonna come straight away but then that asshole turned up,” he said. It wasn't really answering her question, but she stayed quiet. “Rick shouldn't've left you like that. I know you had your reasons.” He was genuine but her own guilt told her he was wrong. She started to shake her head, bringing her hands up to cover her face and clutch at her hair.

She felt arms wrap around her, warm skin against her own as she was drawn close. She let herself be pulled in, limp like a ragdoll. “I think the rest is kinda obvious,” he muttered absently. She dared to wrap her arms around him tightly and bury her face against his chest, letting the anguish bubble up and over until she was crying quietly.

She wasn't sure how long it was until she became aware of the world again, of the water lapping at her skin and the warm body she was pressed up against. Time wasn't really something she kept any more. She slowly drew away, looking up into that familiar face and reminded of the times he had saved her before, the time he had found her in that room half dead. This was really no different, and yet it felt it.

“You should get washed,” she said quietly, taking in the dirt on his face and bare shoulders. It looked like the fight at The Prison had been violent and bloody and he hadn't bothered to wash it all off yet.

“Just gonna get dirty again,” he grumbled with a weak smile. She snorted gently and shook her head, scooping up some water in her hand and quickly dumping it over his head. He let out a small, disgruntled noise but kept his arms around her.

“When was the last time you washed your hair, anyway?” He shrugged and let her drop more water on his head.

“I think I had a shower last month,” he answered with a smirk. She laughed a little and cautiously went to rub at his shoulders with wet hands, scrubbing off some of the dirt there. His muscles were tense under her fingers but he didn't move, seeming to reluctantly let her do what she wanted.

It wasn't really his thing, being touched. Carol never really saw him touch anyone for longer than a second or anyone touch him. They had had their moments, but she thought maybe this was the longest time they had been in bodily contact. She sat back a little, his arms dropping down so his hands were on her waist as she persistently rubbed at the dirt.

Only when she was satisfied that she could actually see his weathered, tanned skin again did she nod in triumph and look back up at his face. He was looking at her with an expression of confusion but also slight amusement. “You didn't have to,” he said.

“I wanted to.” She reached up to ruffle his damp hair, not satisfied at all with it. “Now your hair.”

“No,” he said firmly. She raised an eyebrow at him, reaching down to move his hands from her waist.

“Hair,” she repeated, but he only shook his head. “Fine.”

He wasn't ready for her to push herself up and shove against his shoulders, making him fall back into the water with a splash. The choked noise of surprise said it all and she laughed as he came out of the water with his hair plastered to his head and a look far from amusement painted on his face. “Really?”

“Really,” she laughed, reaching up to scrub at his hair. “You'll look like a gentleman when I'm done with you.”

“I haven't ever looked like one o' those,” he muttered grumpily, going back to letting her clean him as he scanned the woods for any movement. They apparently seemed safe because he soon returned his eyes to hers.

She cleaned out any blood and... something that looked like bone from his hair, feeling a small bolt of joy as he let his hands settle on her waist again. When she was pleased with it, she made him dunk his head under the water again to wash it all out before rubbing a bit of dirt from his cheek and smiling. “There,” she said quietly.

He seemed far away from appreciating the bath, but he smiled a little anyway. She hesitated as she watched the corners of his lips turning up, her hand pausing just over his cheek before she let it rest there again. The reason he had come... was it obvious? He didn't resist as she leaned forwards, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. In fact, he leaned into it a little. She felt a hand on her jaw, turning her head until their lips lightly pressed together.

It was simple and quick, something he didn't linger on too long before he slipped away. It was enough. The little things were always enough those days. Carol smiled to herself and let him make his way back to the rock at the edge of the pool. For now, she wouldn't think of the consequences. He had come for _her_ , for a reason, and maybe he had just shown that reason. 


End file.
